Hogwarts: Harry Potter’s Return from the Witcher World

Ron protested indignantly, defending himself: "Fred and George were drinking with you in third year."

"And they had such a big bottle!"

He spread his arms dramatically, exaggerating the size.

"But they don't fear Percy," Harry replied calmly. "If you're brave enough to talk back to Percy, it won't be a problem."

Ron shrank back, saying nothing. His body language said it all.

He wasn't reckless like Fred and George.

The Three Broomsticks gradually filled with more young wizards, most of them older students, often paired up in couples.

After finishing their drinks, Harry, Ron, and Hermione headed back to the castle.

Even Ron felt staying in the pub for too long was a waste of time.

Better to spend that time studying.

That day was a festive one for the Hogwarts students. A bustling day of shopping in Hogsmeade was capped off with the much-anticipated Halloween Feast in the evening.

It seemed Dumbledore had gone out of his way to compensate for the frightful events of the previous year.

This year, he had invited a ghostly band to perform during the feast. Their music began even before dinner, but their syrupy melodies left much to be desired.

Neville frowned. The festive atmosphere reminded him of last Halloween—a harbinger of misfortune.

Harry and his friends arrived just in time for the feast.

As soon as they entered the Great Hall, Hermione frowned, noticing the overly exuberant ghost band in one corner.

"Who invited them?" she asked, clearly unimpressed.

She paused, then added, "Their style is... excessively avant-garde."

"Who else but Dumbledore?" Harry replied, glancing at the staff table.

Sure enough, Dumbledore was grinning the widest, clearly enchanted by the music. He tapped his fingers in time with the beat, completely absorbed.

Hermione groaned, massaging her temples.

Ron mumbled, "I actually think it sounds kind of good."

"Ron, you need to clean your ears," Fred interjected, walking over just in time to hear him. He sighed dramatically, as though deeply disappointed. "You're too old for such poor taste."

Ron bristled. "What do you mean, poor taste?"

"Normal people wouldn't enjoy this band," George chimed in, nodding in agreement.

Ron looked around the hall, then pointed to Sir Nicholas, the resident Gryffindor ghost. "He seems to be enjoying it!"

"He's a ghost," Fred said flatly.

Ron craned his neck and pointed to the staff table.

Before he could speak, George preempted him: "That's Dumbledore. You know..."

In many people's eyes, Dumbledore had always been a little eccentric.

Ron pursed his lips, suddenly questioning his own judgment.

"Harry, we've got big news!" Fred grabbed Harry and sat him down at the long table. "Guess who we ran into in Hogsmeade?"

Fred's face was alight with excitement.

Harry ventured a guess: "A major customer?"

George shook his head. "Nope. Guess again."

"You found a steady supplier?" Harry tried once more.

Fred still shook his head. "Wrong again!"

Harry gave up. "You saw a Veela dancing at the Three Broomsticks—without clothes? If that's true, we left too early."

Hermione turned beet red and smacked Harry's back with her fist, only to yelp as her hand rebounded off his dragon-hide armor.

"That does sound great," Fred said wistfully, his eyes sparkling. "But no, Veela don't do that sort of thing."

"We ran into someone from your first trip to Hogsmeade," George cut in, eager to get to the point.

Harry froze for a moment before recalling the man they'd encountered—the adult wizard who had tried to rob students.

"Is he still up to his old tricks?" Harry asked, surprised. "Didn't he lose his hand?"

Fred shook his head. "Of course not. He's begging in Hogsmeade now, but he recognized us."

"He showed up while we were buying supplies," George continued in a hushed tone, his expression serious. "He even called for backup, trying to get revenge."

"It was a really dangerous situation!" Fred added dramatically.

"We nearly lost all our money and materials," George said gravely.

"Guess what happened next?" Fred asked.

Harry feigned indifference. "A group of Veela—unclothed—showed up?"

Fred cut him off. "No, Harry. Not while Hermione's here."

Hermione shot them all a withering glare.

"We wish that had happened!" George exclaimed, slapping the table. "But instead, a black dog saved us."

"It leapt out of nowhere and bit that guy's hand," Fred recounted, his eyes gleaming. "It even snatched his wand."

"It was amazing," George said, his voice full of admiration. "The dog only attacked the bad guys. And after doing a good deed, it even tugged on our robes, asking for food as a reward."

"A black dog?" Harry interrupted. "A pure black one?"

"Exactly," George confirmed. "We wanted to take it in as a pet, but it wouldn't let us. It ran off with its food."

Harry sighed. "What's wrong with you Weasleys?"

George and Fred looked momentarily confused.

Ron turned away awkwardly, biting into a lamb chop to avoid the conversation.

Harry pulled the Marauder's Map from the Sorting Hat and spread it out on his lap.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," he murmured, tapping the map with his wand.

The map unfurled, names filling the parchment.

But "Sirius Black" wasn't among them. Lupin's name was also absent, though "Peter Pettigrew" remained stationary in Lupin's office.

"What's wrong?" Fred asked curiously.

"Nothing," Harry replied, shaking his head. "I was just checking if Snape or Lupin were here. It feels odd that they're missing."

Fred and George perked up immediately, leaning in to inspect the map.

Their initial enthusiasm quickly waned.

"Snape isn't here. Neither is Lupin. Do you think they went to Hogsmeade to fight?" Fred speculated.

"No, Snape isn't the type to fight like that," George countered. "He'd poison his opponent instead—much more elegant."

"But Lupin's an excellent Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—not like Lockhart," Fred argued. "He'd see through any tricks."

The conversation sparked a lively debate among the students, with Gryffindors and Ravenclaws alike joining in.

The Ravenclaws analyzed the situation logically, considering potions, spells, and tactics, while the Gryffindors relied purely on intuition and bravado.

"That black dog—was it Black?" Hermione whispered to Harry.

Harry nodded.

"Good thing he's innocent," Hermione mused. "Otherwise, the Weasleys might've been in real trouble."

Ron, still chewing on his lamb chop, leaned closer. "Harry, if Snape and Lupin really fought, who'd win?"

"Snape," Harry answered without hesitation. "Lupin's good, but he's still not as strong."

Ron looked disappointed. He'd been rooting for Lupin.

"Do you think Lupin's out looking for Black?" Hermione asked, her voice hushed.

Harry shook his head, glancing at the moonlight streaming through the windows. "Not likely. We probably won't see him for a while."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully, nibbling on a piece of bread.

Halloween night was lively.

The Hufflepuffs were emboldened, with first- and second-years sporting bizarre outfits courtesy of their older peers.

Even a Hufflepuff ghost was involved, perched atop a student's head.

The younger students ran to the staff table, shouting, "Trick or treat!"

The professors indulged them with sweets, creating a cheerful atmosphere—until Dumbledore offered a jar of cockroach clusters. The students scattered like frightened birds.

The Gryffindors, however, skipped the "treat" phase and went straight to tricks.

They set off fireworks purchased from Fred and George, which exploded into bursts of tomato sauce.

One firework even hit Dumbledore, who dramatically clutched his chest and collapsed into his chair, playing dead.

By curfew, the festivities wound down.

Professor McGonagall herded the students back to their dormitories, though the Gryffindors sang loudly all the way back.

But when they reached the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, a crowd had gathered.

Percy pushed through, frowning. "What's going on? Forgot the password?"

He paused, then waved his wand. Two pieces of parchment flew out of his bag and disappeared down the hallway.

Harry peered over the heads of the crowd and froze.

The Fat Lady's portrait was torn to shreds. The canvas was in tatters, with pieces scattered across the floor.

"Did Black do this?" Hermione asked, frowning.

"Most likely," Harry replied grimly. "He's here for Pettigrew. Couldn't get into the common room, so he lost his temper and made a mess."

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Powerstones?

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